


We Will Rise Again

by chalcedonyx



Category: Far Cry 5, Far Cry: New Dawn
Genre: Abusive Relationships, American Sign Language, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bunker Ending (Far Cry), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Guilt, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Religious Fanaticism, Rook deserves a happy ending dammit, Rook is bisexual, Slight canon non-compliance, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Survivor Guilt, The Judge uses sign language, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2020-11-08 14:43:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalcedonyx/pseuds/chalcedonyx
Summary: "John tortured me.Faith drugged me.Jacob starved me."And Joseph," she signs carefully, her fingers casting long shadows in the firelight."Worst of all, perhaps, Joseph forgave me."





	1. IN LIKE A LION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, ‘Come and see.’ / And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.”

Montana. Big Sky Country.

Odessa stares out the window of the truck, watching the clouds morph into different shapes, casting impossibly huge shadows across the rolling hills of the countryside.

“You’re awful quiet over there,” Sheriff Whitehorse says to her, and she turns to him, watching his fingers tap along to the rhythm of some Top 40 Country Hit on the radio. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” she smiles and nods. “Just zoned out for a little bit.”

Earl Whitehorse. He was a tough old nut to crack, a no-nonsense sort of guy with a receding hairline and a heart of gold. But, for whatever reason, he had given her a chance.

Almost seven years ago now, he’d stepped into the interrogation room and briefly skimmed her rap sheet.

“Odessa Rook. Picked up by Officer Watson for petty theft and grand theft auto.” He read her alleged misdemeanors off the page before he set the clipboard down and took a seat across from her. “Now what’s a young woman with a bright future like yourself doin’ robbin’ convenience stores and takin’ muscle cars for joyrides?” He leaned back in his chair and looked at her patiently over the rim of his too-big glasses.

She snorted a short, sarcastic laugh through her nose and crossed her arms, her leg bouncing anxiously beneath the table.

Bright future? Surely that was a joke.

But he stared at her, unfazed, not seeming to understand the humor of his own words.

“You quit school a month before graduation, and you’ve been living at the women’s shelter? You must be all of what, 17?” He asked. She averted her eyes but could still feel him looking at her with a most tender brand of scrutiny.

“My mom and dad kicked me out,” she’d said finally, spat the words at him angrily. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Kicked you out?”

“Yeah.”

“For what?”

She’d looked up at him, her bratty tough-girl mask starting to fall.

“Cause they went through my private shit on my computer, and they didn’t want a queer, tree-hugging democrat living under their roof.”

Tears welled in her eyes and she wiped at them furiously with her sleeve.

Whitehorse had nodded then, and pulled a clean handkerchief from his shirt pocket, held it out to her.

“I’m real sorry about that,” he’d said, and he’d meant it. 

“Yeah, well, fuck ‘em.” She sniffled and glanced away. “Why do you give a shit, anyway?”

“I’ll give it to you straight, Odessa.” He shifted in his seat and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. “I don’t want you to ruin your life just because your parents couldn’t act right. I don’t give a damn who you are or what you believe, once you have a kid, your own personal reservations gotta fly right out the damn window. I don’t want you to serve jail time. I think that would be a waste of your potential. I want you to do some community service, and then you either sign up for the force, or you apply for a position as a park ranger with the Montana Forestry Service. We’ll find you a place to stay while you do that until you can stand on your own two legs. Or, you can go to jail, and waste away in a cell, and probably end up continuing down this path of self-destruction.”

“Are those my only options?” She asked, unimpressed and a little averse to the choices.

He grinned at her patiently.

“Yes.”

In the end, she took the plea deal, and he made sure that her case went smoothly. 

Waiting for her on the other side of a formal apology, 60 hours of community service, a mandatory curfew, and 12 months of reporting regularly to a parole officer was her freedom. A Whitehorse-mandated version of freedom, but freedom.

He set up a place for her to stay, just like he had said, with Nancy, the cheery and plump dispatcher from the station.

He checked in with her regularly, made sure she was eating something other than junk food, made sure she was getting a start on her community service hours. After a couple of months of driving her to meet with her probation officer, he started taking her with him on grocery trips and letting her pick out clothes or cheap box hair dye, or whatever else.

She couldn’t understand why he had done this for her, until the day came that she got tired of staying with Nancy, and moved into the spare bedroom at Whitehorse’s place.

Almost every surface where you could sit or hang a picture frame was covered in them. Pictures of a younger and less disheveled Earl Whitehorse standing proudly beside a young girl who favored him. Pictures of her winning medals at science fairs, or trophies from soccer, or the two of them garbed in silly hats at theme parks.

“That’s Amanda,” he said while he tucked his windbreaker into the coat closet by the door. “She was my pride and joy.” He smiled sadly.

Odessa turned to him, asking the question with her eyes only.

_ Was? _

“Cancer. She would’ve been your age this past April.”

“I’m… so sorry,” she said, and she meant it. 

“It’s been… God, five years ago now. I miss her every day.”

Things were different after that. 

Odessa wanted to make him proud. Wanted to do right by him.

She finished her community service hours as quickly as she could and went back to school to get her diploma.

Whitehorse was a little more lenient after that, and while she thought about her choice to join the force or the forestry service, she started taking classes at the local community college. 

After a while, she signed up for the police academy and passed all her exams with flying colors. 

The day came for her to move into her own place, a quaint little cabin for rent just down the road from Whitehorse.

“If you need anything, you just gimme a call. No matter what time of night-”

“Yes, dad,” she sighed mockingly and smiled, pulling him in for a hug. “I won’t be far.”

“It’s okay to be nervous, Rook,” he suggests politely and she chuckles.

“I’m not nervous,” she argues, but they both know it’s just a front.

“Okay then, you’re not nervous,” he concedes, but he’s still grinning. “But, if you _ were _ -”

“But I’m not.”

“If you were,” he tries again. “I would understand. I was scared shitless for my first big assignment. Hell, I’m nervous about this one.” He frowns. “If it were up to me, I’d say we quit while we’re ahead. We don’t know what they’re capable of, and they likely have more numbers than we even know.”

“And let the Seeds keep terrorizing these people? No thanks. If it goes south, Nancy’s supposed to call in reinforcements, right? We’ll be okay.”

“You really shouldn’t underestimate these people. These cultists, they ain’t nothing to sneeze at.”

“I know.” She purses her lips together into a thin line and tucks loose strands of her platinum-tipped brown hair behind her ear. 

The reports coming out of Hope County were far-fetched at best, and terroristic at worst. Some wealthy family of religious extremists had moved into Hope County and bought up just about all the farmland, the shops, and so on. They even had sympathizers within the ranks of the police, who were letting them operate as they pleased. People were taken in broad daylight and never seen again, and those who didn’t comply with the sale of their land were pushed out by force.

“We’ll be alright. We’re taking the Marshal, right? And Pratt, and Hudson. Plus the chopper. As long as we handle it delicately, it’ll be fine.”

“You’re one hell of an optimist there,” he says to her in disbelief.

“I’m willing it into existence. Maybe if I say it enough times, I’ll be right.” She smiled nervously and returned her gaze to the clouds.

“Maybe you will be.” He chuckled incredulously. “I don’t know if _ I’d _ bet on these odds, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

They board the chopper with their compatriots and Nancy waves to them as the five of them ascend into the dark sky. Odessa stares out the windows, the floor of the chopper vibrating steadily beneath her boots, and she tries to think of good outcomes.

But as they draw ever nearer to the mountains that encompass the valley, the unrest in her stomach grows, and when they break through the cloud cover and lay eyes on an over-sized statue of the cult’s leader, she feels her stomach lurch.

Her leg bounces anxiously and she doesn’t notice it until Whitehorse meets her wandering eyes.

Joseph’s compound is everything they feared and more. 

Odessa steels her nerves and tries to maintain her even temper, but Marshal Burke is on edge, hot-tempered, argumentative. He’s all action and no forethought, and it’s causing problems with Whitehorse. Pratt and Hudson are little help as they comb Odessa’s flanks, keeping the cultists back as the five of them trudge toward the impossibly white and homely chapel.

An eerie and melancholy rendition of Amazing Grace emanates from the building.

“Rookie, on me,” Whitehorse says and Odessa nods. “And you,” he looks at the Marshal. “Just… try not to do anything stupid.”

Marshal Burke gives Whitehorse a reassuring pat on the arm, and his hand lingers there.

“Relax, sheriff,” he says quietly. “You’re about to get your name in the paper.”

“You’ll be fine,” Hudson says to Odessa, but there is a dry reservation in her tone.

The song grows quiet when Burke and Whitehorse push the chapel doors open.

Inside, the church is dark, a single figure illuminated by a bright sigil resembling a cross on the far wall. Odessa swallows her fear and clenches then releases her fists several times at her sides.

The long shadow cast down the aisle belongs to none other than Joseph Seed.

“Something is coming,” he says, and the sound echoes through the church. 

Odessa steps carefully toward him, led by Burke and Whitehorse on either side of her.

“You can feel it, can’t you? We are creeping toward the edge, and there will be a reckoning. That is why we started the project. Because we know what happens next! They will come. They will try to take from us, take our guns, take our freedom, take our faith. We will not let them.”

The closer they get to Joseph, the more calculatingly distressed the crowd around him becomes. Odessa looks straight ahead, but she can see in her periph the members of the cult who stand up from the pews on either side of her, cradling their weapons carefully.

“Sheriff, come on,” Burke says impatiently and Whitehorse holds up a hand to him.

“Just hold on, Marshal.”

“We will not let their greed or their immorality or their depravity hurt us anymore. There will be no more suffering!”

They’re mere steps away from Joseph now as he stands, shirtless, but neatly kept, on the second step of the altar. For whatever reason, he’s wearing yellow-tinted sunglasses, and his dark hair is tied in a small bun at the back of his head. There is a cross on a leather cord wrapped tightly around his left palm.

Burke and Whitehorse start to argue quietly once more and Burke finally decides he’s had enough.

“Fuck this,” he says, and produces the paper detailing the warrant for Joseph, and holds it out to him like a priest would hold a cross out to someone possessed. “Joseph Seed! I have a warrant issued for your arrest, on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm. Now, I want you to step forward, and keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

The congregation is audibly upset now, sparse threats yelled from different voices in the crowd around Odessa and her superiors.

Joseph raises his hands, seemingly in surrender, before slowly drawing them down out in front of himself, gesturing towards the Marshal, Whitehorse, and Odessa.

“Here they are. The locusts in our garden.”

More cultists appear from the shadows and form a protective human barrier around Joseph, scowling and baring their teeth to Odessa’s group.

“See, they’ve come for me. They have come to take me away from you. They’ve come to destroy all that we’ve built!”

With each word out of Joseph’s mouth, he retreats further behind his guardians and they, in turn, grow angrier. One of them feints a lunge towards Burke and he reaches for his gun, but Whitehorse stops him with a swift hand motion.

“Do not touch that service weapon!” He commands over the din of the congregation’s unrest. “Hold on, and don’t - stand down! Stand down! Everyone calm down!”

Suddenly, the noise dissipates, and Joseph emerges tenderly from his flock, dismissing them with reassuring touches to their arms and shoulders.

“I knew this moment would come,” he says, and the cultists at his side give him puzzled and devastated looks. “And we’ve prepared for it,” he grins proudly. “Go,” he orders gently and they reluctantly obey. “Go. God will not let them take me.”

The phrase is so calm and yet so menacing that a chill runs down Odessa’s spine. 

The congregation disperses out the front door, and when Odessa turns her gaze back to Joseph, she sees three additional people behind him she hadn’t noticed before. He lifts his hands into the air and turns his gaze skyward.

“I saw when the lamb opened the first seal, and I heard as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts say, ‘Come and see!’”

“Step forward,” Burke commands him, and Joseph resumes his relaxed posture, turning his gaze to Burke as he steps down from the altar.

“And I saw,” Joseph says in a low voice, pointing a single finger at Burke, then slowly craning his head to look at the sheriff. “And behold. It was a white horse,” he hisses, his silvery voice almost a whisper now. 

Earl takes a step back as Joseph stares him down.

Odessa feels her body break out in a cold sweat, and then Joseph’s eyes fall on her, and her stomach drops.

“And Hell followed with him,” he says, and holds his hands out in front of him as if she is meant to take them.

She’s frozen in place, his eyes locking her where she stands, until Burke speaks up and she looks at him.

“Rookie,” he says. “Cuff this son of a bitch.”

“God will not let you take me,” Joseph inclines his head imposingly as he repeats the statement as if it is the only truth any of them have ever known.

Odessa’s eyes flit around the room for an answer, for anything; to Joseph, to the threateningly reserved people gathered behind him, to the sheriff’s unreadable expression.

Suddenly, apprehending Joseph seems like the most dangerous choice she could ever make.

But they can’t just leave him here and let him continue with Eden’s Gate as he so pleases.

_ Are those my only options? _

She hears the voice of the sheriff in her head.

_ Yes. _

She gathers all of what she decides is courage rather than stupidity and steps forward, avoiding Joseph’s eyes as she closes the cuffs around his wrists.

She catches a glimpse of a rather large set of scarified letters on his inner forearm:

_ W R A T H _

He catches her looking at the word and her blood goes cold when she meets his eyes.

“Sometimes, the best thing to do,” he grins, a slimy, evil expression. “Is to walk away.”

The cacophony of upset cultists is deafening around them as they briskly retreat to the chopper, but Rook cannot hear it. It’s all muffled, all moving too slowly as she glances around to watch the scene unfold.

_ It can’t be this easy. There’s no way it’s this easy. _

Whitehorse is saying something to her, beckoning for her to catch up, and she does her best to pick up the pace, but she’s moving through water.

Joseph walks calmly in front of her, her hand on his back to escort him forward. Even though he’s now in her custody, and even through her gloves, the contact feels overly personal and makes her skin crawl.

One of the cultists gets too close to Burke for his own comfort, and to Rook’s horror, he brandishes his pistol and fires twice into the air to keep them back, and time catches up with itself.

Suddenly it’s all too fast, and they’re all dodging projectiles as they climb into the chopper. 

Something hard hits Odessa square in the back and she stumbles, shoving Joseph forward. Whitehorse takes hold of him and pushes him into the bird. Hudson straps him into the seat while Burke and Rook buckle their own seat-belts. Pratt and Whitehorse are firing up the engine and everyone is shouting, and when they take off, there are cultists hanging onto the sides of the chopper as it ascends crookedly into the air over the compound.

Joseph is singing, God, why is he singing? Why is he so calm?

Burke fires one round into the chest of an unwanted passenger and they lose their grip on the chopper and fall into the branches of the trees below them.

Someone climbs directly into the blades of the chopper, and the windshield gets sprayed with blood, and the chopper stalls, and Rook is hyperventilating as the machine plummets down, down, down, into the dark of the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all.  
I’m writing this because I was a little dissatisfied with the lost potential of New Dawn’s storyline, and because The Junior Deputy deserves a happy ending after everything the Seed family puts them through.  
This fic will include canon-typical violence and canon-typical themes that are seen in the game, and will elaborate on those things, so I will include content warnings as I feel they are needed, but just be wary that this will be a heavy read and have tried to tag it appropriately.  
Also, as a disclaimer, I absolutely do not condone the Seed family’s actions, especially Joseph’s. I just think they are incredibly interesting villains, and I think the dynamic between Joseph and The Deputy is interesting to explore. That being said, I will make no attempt to glorify or romanticize the abuse Joseph subjects Rook to in the later chapters.  
I will probably also revise this chapter.  
Thank you for reading!


	2. OUT LIKE A LAMB

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rejoice over her, O heaven, and you saints and apostles and prophets, for God has given judgment for you against her!”

Nancy’s is the first voice Odessa hears, but it’s all wrong, and there’s a sharp pain in her head and abdomen.

_ “Come in this is Nancy, over?” _

The transmission is garbled and far away, and the smell of smoke is a shock to Odessa’s already compromised senses. She blinks her eyes open and can just barely make out the swaying shape of Burke across from her; he’s unconscious, upside down, and for whatever reason, his arms are dangling past his head.

Odessa blinks and shifts in her seat and when she opens her eyes again she sees sparks flying from different places in the helicopter, and a dangling pair of headphones beside Burke.

_ “Please? Are you there? Are you there, Sheriff?” _

Odessa tries to reclaim her numb limbs, forcing her tingling arms and hands to the buckle of her seat-belt and fidgeting with it unsuccessfully.

“Deputy Hudson, if you’re there, please pick up,” Nancy says desperately but it’s covered up by another voice creeping steadily closer to the chopper.

It’s singing Amazing Grace.

Odessa reaches out frantically for the headset, her limbs uncooperative and sluggish, her head swimming, fear and bile rising in her throat, but she finally grabs hold of it.

A hand closes around her wrist and she sees the word _ W R A T H _ engraved in the arm and she lets out a terrified breath as she looks into the dispassionate eyes of Joseph Seed.

He stares at her through the yellow lenses of his glasses, one of them now cracked, his expression unreadable.

Her body is screaming for her to wrench her hand free and answer Nancy’s continued cries but his eyes bore into her very soul while he continues the song in a severe whisper and she’s unable to break free of his hold.

He squeezes tightly around her wrist, threatening to break it, and pushes her hand away from the headphones.

“I told you that God would not let you take me.”

Her teeth are chattering together in time with the shiver that has enveloped the rest of her body.

Nancy pleads over the speakers one more time, and Joseph grabs the headset, lifting the mic up to his mouth, just out of Odessa’s reach.

“Dispatch,” he grins smoothly, and Nancy cries in response.

“Oh my God,” she breathes, her voice thick.

“Everything is just fine here. No need to call anyone.”

“Yes, father.” Nancy says in total compliance. “Praise be to you.”

Odessa’s eyes widen and Joseph smiles pleasantly.

White-hot terror and outrage pour into Odessa’s body and she lets out strange, strangled half-sobs as she swipes at him like a caged animal. 

“You bastard!” She shrieks, her voice cracking.

Joseph stares at her while she flails, and finally he lets go of the headset and takes hold of her chin and forcefully holds her head in place. She flinches when he leans in, and his breath is hot against her cheek when he speaks.

“No one is coming to save you,” he whispers, lingering for just long enough that she understands the reality of his words, and then he swiftly ducks back out of the chopper when he hears the grateful cries of his flock outside.

They reach for him and thank God for keeping him safe and he returns their touches.

“Everything is unfolding according to God’s plan,” he tells them, climbing up onto the hood of a truck. “I am still here with you. The First Seal has been broken. The Collapse has begun. And we will take what we need. And we will preserve what we have. And we will kill all those who stand in our way.”

He points and outstretched arm towards the helicopter just as Odessa’s comrades begin to stir in their seats, Hudson and Burke coughing and surveying their surroundings with confusion.

“And these,” he says, and the congregation turns their attention towards her and her companions. “The harbingers of doom will see the truth!”

The small fires that had started up are growing around them now, and Odessa’s throat thickens. Joseph lifts his arms skyward just as he had done in the church and closes his eyes.

“We gotta get outta here,” Burke says weakly.

“BEGIN THE REAPING!” Joseph bellows, and his followers stalk towards the chopper.

“We gotta get outta here!” Burke says, more lucidly and more desperately this time, as he tries to free himself.

They reach Hudson first, who sat to Odessa’s right, and she manages to unfasten her belt just before they take hold of her, but her struggle is for naught. She’s too weak and there are too many of them, and they wrench her out of the chopper as she cries out with angry rasps. Odessa reaches out to try and grab her legs as she is pulled out, but fails to make contact, and then Pratt is screaming as the cultists pull him from the front seat.

“Jesus Christ, we gotta get the fuck out of here!” Burke says, and Odessa is reeling with fear as the cultists make their second trip back to the bird for her.

But the fire is accelerated by something and shoots up into their face, turning into a wall of flame and keeping them back.

“Let them burn. This is God’s will. This is their punishment,” Joseph shouts.

The fire moves closer to Odessa and she turns back to Burke when she hears him collide with the ceiling of the chopper before climbing out.

Odessa glances back through the flames and sees Joseph staring right at her through the blaze, but when she turns back to the left, the Marshal is gone.

“Burke,” she cries out. “Burke! BURKE!” She’s panicking, and gives her belt one final try, groaning furiously between gritted teeth, and finally it gives, and she collides with the floor, coughing as she climbs out before the fire can consume her.

She stumbles out of the broken metal machine, her chest heaving, and wills herself to keep moving into the woods.

“Oh, whoa, whoa, hey! They’re getting away!”

Shots are fired in her general direction and she ducks instinctively, but in the dark, loses her footing and trips down the hill, rolling until she collides with a nestle of thin pine trees.

It pushes all the air out of her lungs and she is stunned as she lies there, reeling from the impact.

But the cultists’ voices are growing louder as they turn their search efforts into the woods, and the only thing that pushes her on is pure adrenaline.

She passes under a tall bridge, over which several cultist vehicles pass, and comes upon a small shack beside a pond.

She tries to calm her breathing, but she’s panting from the effort of her trek through the woods, and she startles at the sound of voices up ahead. She creeps along the outer perimeter of the shack and peers around a corner to see a man pissing off the edge of a dock into the water. She spies a lead pipe leaning against the shack and reaches for it, taking a deep breath before swinging at the cultist’s head.

The pipe makes contact with the man’s head with an upsetting _ crack _ and he falls like a dead weight off the side of the dock and into the mud. Odessa hops down and takes the pistol from his holster, checks the clip, and tucks it into her belt, re-equipping the pipe for the next encounter with whoever heard the commotion on the dock. A rather disheveled looking woman stalks towards the dock, talking to herself. Odessa waits, crouched in the reeds beside the dock, and when the woman notices her fallen companion, Odessa grabs her by the ankles and pulls with all her strength. The unsuspecting cultist falls backward as her legs are pulled out from beneath her, and hits her head on a wooden post with considerable force on the way down. Odessa climbs back up onto the dock and nudges her with her boot, lead pipe ready, but the woman doesn’t move.

After gathering some supplies from the shack, Odessa makes her way to an abandoned pair of buildings on either side of the highway. She tries to peer through the window of one of them, but it’s too dark inside to see much, so she checks her surroundings before slowly opening the door, but someone catches her off-guard just as she steps inside and she is pushed sideways into a bookshelf, then grabbed. She opens her eyes and looks into the face of Marshal Burke, who realizes his error and releases her immediately.

“Jesus Christ, Rook,” he pants, stepping backward and holding a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, I thought- I thought you were one of them-“

“What the fuck, Burke?!” She half-shouts, shoving him backward further with both hands. “You left me there to die!”

“I’m sorry,” he holds his hands up in surrender and she scoffs at him angrily. “I’m sorry. If I had stayed and helped you, we would both be dead, you know that.”

“I do?” She asks accusingly, narrowing her brows at him.

“Look, you had a good chance of making it, and you did.”

“Wh- A good chance? Is that what you call it? Yeah, a good chance of burning alive in a crashed chopper all because you wanted to save your own skin, and you couldn’t spare one fucking second to help me.”

“I wanted to save your skin, too, Dep, but I did the math on that situation, and there was no way we both would’ve made it out if I had stayed behind. I’m fucking sorry, alright?”

Odessa nods at him with a disgusted sneer and the Marshal turns away from her.

“Yeah, you are sorry.”

He turns back to her, brows narrowed.

“This is exactly what Whitehorse warned me about.” She chuckles cruelly to herself. “And the way you handled the situation at the compound-“

“You’re gonna blame me for Joseph’s fucking crazies coming after us? You’re really going to try to make that my fault?”

“If you had just _ listened _ to the sheriff-“

“If I had listened to the sheriff we would’ve retreated right back out of that church with a yellow stripe down all our backs.”

“At least we wouldn’t be in _ this _ shit!”

He grabs her by the collar of her shirt and pushes her back, and she collides with a painting on the wall, knocking it from its place and onto the floor. They stare each other down for a moment, until the sound of movement outside causes them both to instinctively take cover. 

They watch through the sliver of a curtain as two pickup trucks emblazoned with Joseph's cross pass by. 

Once they're out of range, Burke takes a deep breath and stands back up, moving to examine the painting that Rook displaced when he pushed her. 

She follows him and peeks around him at the image. It's a formal portrait of Joseph, surrounded by those three people Odessa saw behind him in the church. His family. She had heard about the Seed siblings, John and Jacob, and about their adoptive sister, Faith. This must be them, she thought.

“We’re puttin’ this whole family away, all of ‘em. Fucking lunatics!” Burke hisses at the portrait before tossing it aside. 

Odessa shivers when she looks at Joseph’s image in the picture, and remembers a horrifying detail about the crash.

“Where is Whitehorse?” She asks quietly and Burke turns to her, a grave look in his eye.

“I don’t know, Rook,” he says grimly, and she has no option but to believe him.

“Shit,” Odessa whimpers, holding an anxious hand to her forehead. “Shit, shit, shit!” She kicks a small trash can over and leans against a desk, obscuring her face with her hands and trembling.

“I don’t remember seeing them drag him away, m-” Burke thinks aloud. “Maybe he got away before more of them showed up.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Joseph was already up and walking around, probably for a little while before I came to. Earl wouldn’t have left me there,” she says. “Unless it was absolutely impossible for him to get me out. Which means they probably took him. Oh, God…” she breathes heavily into her hands. “They got Hudson and Pratt, too.” 

Burke puts an awkward hand on her shoulder and she looks up at him.

“I know. Rook, I’m sorry. But we gotta get out of here. We probably don’t have a lot of time before they catch up to us. We’re no help to any of them if we’re dead.”

“Or worse,” Odessa adds, a chill running up her spine at the terror of being dragged away by the cult’s minions.

“Come on,” Burke says finally. “There’s a truck outside. Let’s just… take it and get going.”

“Where are we gonna go, Burke?” she asks bleakly. 

“Anywhere but here,” he answers. “I’m hoping they won’t chase after one of their own vehicles. As long as we play it cool we should be fine. We’ll head northeast. It’s probably only a few hours back to Missoula. And then we’re gonna come back here with the goddamn National Guard, and we’re gonna take out the rest of these evangelist assholes.”

He considers the idea for a moment before pulling off his bulletproof vest and uniform button-up shirt, revealing a black t-shirt underneath. Rook does the same, a black tank top underneath her deputy’s shirt, and ties the forest green thing tightly around her waist with the sleeves.

She and Burke search the house for supplies and weapons.

“We’re gonna get out of this, Rookie,” he promises as the two of them arm themselves to the teeth.

“I fuckin’ hope you’re right,” she says, reloading an assault rifle she’s found.

The two of them check for activity outside the trailer before making their way to the truck. 

“So far, so good,” Burke says quietly as he and Odessa climb into the truck. “Just keep your head down and we’ll be fine.”

The truck roars to life, and Burke pulls onto the highway. They ride in silence, trying to look like they belong, and everything is fine until Burke curses under his breath and Odessa turns her attention back to the highway.

There is a roadblock ahead. A security checkpoint.

“Shit,” she says. “We should’ve known better.”

“God damn it,” Burke says, gently pressing the brakes.

“What are we gonna do?” Odessa asks and Burke doesn’t answer. “Burke!”

“I don’t know,” he says in exasperation. 

“We can’t stop, they definitely aren’t gonna fall for this. They probably all have our descriptions.”

“I can’t just fuckin’ drive through them!” He argues. “That’s a dead giveaway. If we stop, we at least have a chance of flying under the radar.”

“There’s no way that’s going to work,” she shakes her head.

Her body feels like it’s got gasoline running through her veins, and she could ignite at any second, as they pull closer and closer towards the roadblock, and Burke shows no signs of slowing.

“What are we doing, Burke?” she asks anxiously, her eyes flitting between him and the stop in front of them. 

He grimaces and his hands tighten around the steering wheel.

“Hold on to something.”

He stomps his foot down on the gas pedal and the engine bellows, and they’re speeding towards the checkpoint, where the guards are now scrambling around, and the truck plows through the metal barricades and a couple of unfortunate cultists. The tires squeal as the truck slides across the highway and Burke corrects the wheel dramatically. Odessa ducks to avoid the gunfire now streaming after them, and she's firing her own weapon out the window at their pursuers. They make it half a mile before a plane blows the bridge beneath their wheels, and the truck nosedives towards the Henbane below. Time slows down again as glass and debris float through the air around them, then resumes its natural flow on impact with the water. 

The impact is shock enough to disorient Odessa but she’s stopped short by her seat belt locking up. Water pours in through her window and soaks through her clothes as she wearily reaches for her seat-belt. She's lucid enough to watch history repeat itself as Burke swims out of the truck without giving her a second thought.

Her body re-lights that fire of terror and she's got liquid adrenaline bursting through her veins as she frees herself from the truck and swims up, up, up, as fast as she can towards the surface. 

She just makes it, and takes a huge gulp of air as she treads water, her body giving out from the strain. She just floats there for a moment, catching her breath, and weakly turns to look around for Burke.

She wills herself to doggy paddle towards the riverbank, and once she reaches it, she collapses into the cool mud and reeds. She closes her eyes, her chest heaving, and when she opens them again it feels as if she’s lost some small amount of time. She gives her head a shake to try and keep from passing out, but she's starting to black out from the exhaustion alone. 

She hears Burke's voice from the opposite shore. She turns her head but all she can make out in the inky blackness is two figures dragging Burke up the hill, illuminated by a too-bright spotlight from some cultists in a pickup truck on the adjacent stretch of highway. 

She breathes out and turns her head skyward again, admiring the amount of visible stars. 

_ Maybe if I'm lucky I'll sink right into the mud and die. _

But the odds have been specifically against her the entire night, and she isn't surprised when she hears the sound of encroaching footsteps. She's too tired to do anything but crane her head sluggishly towards the approaching danger, and she can't see much in the darkness, save for the outline of a large figure looming over her, a single silhouette against the navy blue sky. 

Her eyelids droop unsteadily before finally closing, and the last thing she hears is Burke's cries of defiance and terror echoing into the valley around her.


	3. WITH A STRONG HAND AND AN OUTSTRETCHED ARM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The great trials that you saw, the signs and wonders, and the mighty hand and outstretched arm by which the LORD your God brought you out. The LORD your God will do the same to all the peoples you now fear."

His name was Richard Roosevelt.

“Most folks call me Dutch,” he’d said after cutting her loose from the bed-frame in his bunker.

He’d pulled her from the muddy shores of the riverbank after the crash, initially thinking her a cultist. Until he saw the uniform tied around her waist, that was. She’d come to on the cold, concrete floor of his bunker, the zip-ties cutting off circulation to her hands and rubbing her skin raw. She’d struggled to see straight enough to recognize him back-lit against the single, swinging lamp that hung from the ceiling. But once her eyes had adjusted she’d known instantly who he was.

A loner. A Vietnam vet – firmly evidenced by the paraphernalia scattered around his bunker. A survivalist. A gruff, untrusting, ornery bastard. Didn’t like the government and had frequent run-ins with Earl regarding minor offenses like collecting rainwater without a permit.

That she was Earl’s protege worried her, until he decided _not_ to hand her over to the Cult, but rather, enlist her help.

“You know what that shit means?” He’d asked her, referring to the sound of Joseph’s distant voice on the radio, the broadcast warped and weird in her ears.

“It means the roads have all been closed,” he’d informed her as his hulking silhouette took a step toward her, and then another. Cigarette smoke hung like fog in the air and it was everything she could do to keep herself from puking on his boots right then and there.

“It means the phone lines have been cut.” Finally he took a seat in the faded brown leather chair in front of her. “It means there’s no signals getting in or out of this valley,” he’d listed, leaning towards her slightly. “But mostly, it means we’re all fucked.”

Her head swam as she waited for him to continue in silence. He ran an agitated hand over his face.

“The goddamn Collapse… They all think the world’s comin’ to an end now. They’ve been waiting for it, for years. Waitin’ for somebody to come along and fulfill their prophecy, and kick off their goddamn holy war.”

She’d swallowed thickly at that, trying to temper the rising bile in her throat. The sensation of what Dutch had since confirmed was not actually a concussion was refusing to play nice with her stomach or her bruised ribs.

_I am going to die here_, she’d thought.

“Well, you sure as shit kicked,” he’d said finally, accusingly, before shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “The smartest thing for me to do would just be to hand you over.”

She’d almost laughed, were it not for the fear that opening her mouth would be all it would take to empty her stomach all over the floor and his shiny combat boots.

She’d watched the wheels turn in his head as he looked her over, vulnerable and in pain on the floor of his bunker, and completely subject to his will. Tied to the frame of his military cot like an animal.

“You’re Whitehorse’s girl, ain’t ya?” He’d asked finally, the mention of the sheriff’s name prompting her to perk up slightly.

She nodded.

“I thought so.”

He’d pulled out his pocketknife and her heart lurched inside her chest as he knelt down in front of her. The knife slipped between the zip-tie cuffs and easily cut them apart, and Dutch helped her stand up, half-carrying, half-leading her to the bathroom down the hall. She graciously accepted the pain pills and bottle of water he offered her and focused on keeping it down as she braced either side of the sink with her hands.

“Get yourself cleaned up,” Dutch had suggested briefly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Get changed. When you’re ready, come see me. We’ll see if we can un-fuck this situation.”

Luckily for her, the chest of drawers she’d been instructed to collect a new outfit from seemed to belong to someone around the same size as her, though she couldn’t imagine who. Did Dutch have a daughter? Is that why he took pity on her? She shrugged internally. Maybe it was better not to ask.

She pulls on a pair of tight, faded jeans and a red flannel shirt. Keeps her combat boots and gun holsters, strapping the latter to her thighs. Neatly folds her Deputy’s uniform and tucks it into the top drawer like it were a sacred artifact. She stares at the brass Deputy’s pin.

What the hell kind of hornet’s nest had she kicked?

She regards her reflection as she settles into the new clothes and realizes that her hair was singed unevenly in the aftermath of the bridge incident. She rummages through the bathroom cabinets for a pair of clippers, buzzing away the left side entirely, leaving behind a thorough undercut.

Dutch had been honest with her, providing her with the following facts: the other deputies were still alive, but each one had been handed off to a different Seed sibling and imprisoned. Just like Joseph had said, no one was coming to save them; the Seeds had severed Hope County’s connection to the rest of the world. Dutch had heard radio chatter from survivors and those willing to fight back and wanted to build a resistance force. That was the only way they were going to get control of the Cult and the County. The first thing they needed to do was liberate the small island on which his bunker presided.

“Why did you ask me if I was Whitehorse’s… girl?” She asks Dutch tentatively and he turns to her, adjusting his glasses.

“Because he was a sour bastard after he lost his daughter. Gave me a lot of trouble for my preppin’ even though it wasn’t hurtin’ anybody. But I heard word of a girl he took in off the streets, and after that he was less inclined to ride my ass about permits and shit.”

Odessa glances at her shoes as she shifts her weight idly.

“Have you heard anything about Earl?” She asks quietly, suddenly feeling very small. “Do you know if he’s alive?”

“’Fraid not, kid. The Cult fucked up my radio tower a few hours before you woke up. Only signal comin’ through is Joseph’s. You fix my tower, I’ll keep an ear out for anything that sounds like him.”

_It’s as good a start as any,_ Rook thinks.

Half a day later, and the Cult is retreating from Dutch’s island with their tails between their legs.

Standing atop the radio tower, compound bow slung across her back, a chill skitters its way through her body as she surveys the three surrounding areas of land separated by the Henbane river. The Cult forces on Dutch’s island had been minimal. She wonders how much worse it’ll be out there.

Almost as if he’s read her mind, Dutch’s voice crackles over the walkie-talkie speaker to tell her to return to his bunker. A new broadcast out of Holland Valley she needs to see.

The static rolls across Dutch’s humble television screen, eventually petering out into a quick flash that reveals John Seed.

Rook’s eyes narrow and she takes a breath as she steels herself for his message.

John smiles at the camera with a nauseating charm before he speaks.

The words barely seem to reach her.

John Seed, the youngest of the three brothers, and the herald of their indoctrination and propaganda, talking of sin and redemption and _the Power of Yes_ while the kind of music you’d hear during the side effects portion of a drug commercial plays in the background.

Odessa can’t help but laugh to herself in frustration, arms crossed as she leans back against Dutch’s desk.

And then John guides Deputy Hudson into the frame, and the mascara-black tear tracks through the dirt and dried blood on her face twist Odessa’s stomach into knots.

_“You have been selected,”_ John says to the camera, to _her_, and it’s as if they are separated by mere inches rather than by miles of distance and the thin glass of the television screen. _“You will be cleansed. You will confess your sins, and you will be offered atonement. Don’t worry.”_

He laughs serenely.

_“You don’t have to do anything. We’ll come for you. Welcome to Eden’s Gate.”_


End file.
